


'and a bite for luck', a tale in three acts

by tannenbrightfeather



Series: Awsten and Travis' Slumber Party Submissions [1]
Category: Bandom, Waterparks (Band)
Genre: A+T's Slumber Party Submission, All Relationships Are Background Really, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Awsten and Otto Think They Have A Rivalry But They Don't, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantasy Creatures, Geoff is Too Pretty For This World, M/M, Potential OOCness, Strange Weaponry, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tannenbrightfeather/pseuds/tannenbrightfeather
Summary: Awsten was supposed to do great things. Even after outliving four partners, they still said that Awsten would do great things. They stopped saying that when the werewolf boy showed up. The new boy, who couldn’t evenholda crossbow, never mind loading and shooting one. Who doesn’t know the difference between a nixie and a mermaid, who thinks he can kill a vampire with a clove of garlic, who doesn’t know that ‘Big Foot’ is politically incorrect terminology, and who has stolen all of Awsten’s glory just because he was stupid to be scared and just lucky enough to have a usable weapon at hand. Any other person, at any other time, would have been werewolf food in thirty seconds flat.So, naturally, the Academy decides to partner them up.





	'and a bite for luck', a tale in three acts

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ 
> 
> To the people following me for ['Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853263/chapters/29352510) I HAVE NOT ABANDONNED IT, I've just hit a small snag, and took a break to, well, write this piece of shit. To the Waterparks fandom, yes, this is a submission for the second season of Awsten and Travis' podcast. I started with a very different idea, and somehow, we ended up here. Don't expect anymore Waterparks fic from me, this is probably a one-off occasion unless inspiration hits.
> 
> This is structured like a play (having 'acts' and such) because that's just how my brain spat it out, deal with it. It's sharp and choppy because I'm used to writing 10k+ in chapters, and Travis set a vague 8k word limit.
> 
> Dear Awsten and Travis (if you end up reading this) I apologise if anything is out of character or inconsistent with your persons. I hope this entertains you in some way!

**Overture: The Rise and Fall of Awsten Knight**

Awsten Knight was born and raised in the Hunters Training Academy, the son of the Head Warden and a world-renowned Troll Hunter. He has been training under the tutelage of the finest Academy alumni since he could walk and hold a weapon at the same time, toddling into the communal kitchen at almost-two brandishing a silver spoon. After a breach in the security systems, Awsten went down as the first person in Academy history to kill a shapeshifter without hesitating or crying first, despite the image of his then-best friend staring back at him; and then he became the only person to ever take out an entire nest of faeries with a single bolt from a crossbow and a blunt machete. In fact, they still argue about _how_ he pulled that one off. Just lucky, perhaps?

Graduating from the Advanced Training Program at fourteen after helping to track down a wendigo terrorising a local campsite (and finding its snack cupboard), Awsten became a fulltime Hunter at sixteen, finally allowed to legally carry weapons, and specialising in land predators and malevolent spirits. All in all, life in the HTA was looking pretty good for Awsten Knight.

Until he got his first partner.

Jawn still hasn’t woken up yet. The banshee scream he heard, full force, on their fourth hunt together left him in a state of sleeping death, the HTA medical technology not advanced enough to revive him.

Awsten’s second partner, Josh, all lean muscles and magically imbued tattoos, ended up in a flock of will-o’-the-wisps two days into hunting down a rogue centaur. He hasn’t been seen since. Then there was Austin, partnered with Awsten because the Academy thought it was hilarious watching them introduce themselves - Tall Austin and Tiny Awsten – was lost at the bottom of a lake, either living with the merfolk, or as kelpie chow. Depended on who you asked.

None of it was Awsten’s fault. He had a knack for getting out of sticky situations just in time. But, still, he had refused to take on another partner. Awsten became one of the rare Academy graduates who worked alone, basking in his fame with the students and alumni alike; a living legend and cautionary tale combined. He gets assigned to an elite team of Hunters, both solo and partnered, headed by Geoff Wigingotn, the Academy’s poster boy for clean hunting, professionalism, and diplomacy with the small sects of peaceful fey.

By the time Awsten turns nineteen, he is the highest-ranking Land Hunter on staff, armed with his signature crossbow, glittering smile, and ever-changing hair colour. And then the werewolf boy shows up. Well, he’s not _actually_ a werewolf, but he killed two of them. With a pair of drumsticks, if the rumours are to be believed. Awsten is furious. This boy, who hasn’t had any training, just _waltzes_ into the Academy like he owns the fucking place, Geoff singing his praises even though the werewolf boy had made a hole in Geoff’s precious car. The car that he doesn’t even let Awsten _ride_ in after Awsten had accidentally scratched the paint job on a high-speed goblin chase a few months before.

Everyone thinks the werewolf boy is brilliant. ‘Natural talent,’ they call him. ‘The new generation of Hunters’. And the worst, to Awsten’s ears: ‘He’ll do great things’.

Awsten was supposed to do great things. Even after outliving four partners, they still said that Awsten would do great things. They stopped saying that when the werewolf boy showed up. The _new boy_ , who couldn’t even _hold_ a crossbow, never mind loading and shooting one. Who doesn’t know the difference between a nixie and a mermaid, who thinks he can kill a vampire with a clove of garlic, who doesn’t know that ‘Big Foot’ is politically incorrect terminology, and who has stolen all of Awsten’s glory just because he was stupid to be scared and just lucky enough to have a usable weapon at hand. Any other person, at any other time, would have been werewolf food in thirty seconds flat.

So, naturally, the Academy decides to partner them up.

**Act One: Enter Otto Wood**

Otto has his first experience with the supernatural when he is seventeen. Two hours into band practice, and four beats into the final chorus of ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ for the ninth time, and suddenly the singer of his shitty garage band is screaming for an entirely different reason. All Otto can do is watch in morbid fascination from behind his drum kit as the bassist they’re auditioning sprouts fur all over and rips the singer’s throat out. His first instinct is not, as the rest of the small band’s is, to run away screaming bloody murder, especially when the hulking, drooling mass of grey fur advances on him and puts its claws straight through his floor toms.

It is, however, to ram both his drumsticks through the chest of what turns out to be an honest to god _werewolf_ with all his might, eyes wide and mouth shut so tightly his jaw starts to protest for fear of shredding a muscle.

This would have been Otto’s _last_ experience with the supernatural; in fact, his last experience with _anything_ ; had he not been in possession of a pair of drumsticks conveniently carved from the branches of a Rowan tree, not that Otto was aware of that fact at the time, merely using whatever sticks he could get his hands on without selling one of his own limbs in his broke, teenager status. As it is, Otto suddenly finds himself standing over a whimpering, snivelling werewolf, clawing at the makeshift wooden stakes in its chest. Otto was going to take pity on the horrid thing, but its muzzle and paws were stained bright red as the singer it attacked made awful gurgling noises from a few feet away, and Otto distinctly remembers what happened when Bilbo Baggins showed Gollum pity from his tenth grade English class.

So, as he had _no_ desire to lose a finger while on a quest to destroy a magic ring in a pit of lava, Otto yanks his drumsticks from the werewolf’s chest and drives them directly into its head, retrieving them once more, and turning on his heel. After pausing first to throw up in a rose bush, Otto flees the garage before the panic sets in and he stops being able to tell his ass from his elbow in his frantic state.

The next morning, a tall man with gorgeous blue eyes and perfect hair shows up on the doorstep of Otto’s house, a crossbow strapped to his back. Otto is still in bed, and by the time he emerges from the cave that is his room, stumbling bleary-eyed down the stairs with an almighty crash and a good deal of swearing, the strange man is already four cups of coffee into conversation with Otto’s mother.

Taking one look at Otto, in his plaid boxers and Hello Kitty shirt, hair plastered to one side of his face and the other side marred with red indents where Otto slept clutching his drumsticks for safety, the strange man tells Otto that the local Hunters’ Training Academy is offering him a place. Otto flicks his eyes over the crossbow on the table, nearly buried amongst the jam and butter and plates of toast, and the genuinely interested look on the stranger’s handsome face, and accepts at once.

Otto’s mother doesn’t let them leave the house until she makes sure that Otto has everything he would ever need for a _forty year_ absence from home, as well as the four he’s actually taking, and that Geoff (Geoff, Geoff Wigington, the _really_ hot fey hunter who has shown up to change Otto’s life like a some kind of tie-dye wearing, crossbow-toting angel) has eaten enough food to, pardon the pun, sate a ravenous wolf. This turns out to be quite a large amount of food, and Otto is _totally_ put upon when he has to help Geoff finish it off, really, it’s such an inconvenience. And the sky is almost pitch black when they finally part into Geoff’s admittedly shitty car and start driving.

“I’m going on an adventure!” Otto hollers out the window after confessing to Geoff that this will be his first ever trip further away from home than the corner store in town. Geoff throws head back against the head rest as he laughs, turning onto the highway.

Hours later, when Geoff’s yawns become so close together that he sounds like he is purring and Otto is afraid that Geoff’s jaw is going to fall right off his face, Otto starts offering to drive for him, even though he doesn’t have a licence yet and hates driving with a fierce burning passion. Eventually, Otto forces Geoff to pull over somewhere before Geoff wraps them around a tree, the engine still cooling down by the time the two of them are sound asleep, the car parked in the shadows of an old abandoned shack.

Otto is a light sleeper, a trait which is usually a great annoyance to him when he would very much like several long and uninterrupted hours of sleep, but every single noise-making device around him has other ideas. That night, however, he comes to be very grateful for it when the awful sound of nails-on-chalkboard that is screeching obnoxiously into his dream turns out to actually be claws scraping down the passenger side window. Otto opens his eyes to see a looming mass of fur and slobber trying to pummel its way into the car. One part of his sleep-addled mind sighs in resignation, because of _course_ he would kill a wolf that had a pack and wasn’t a stereotypical lone wolf, like all the movies would have you believe. The rest of his brain is completely focused on screaming ‘HOLY FUCKING SHIT, THAT’S A FUCKING WEREWOLF!’

His startled shriek (which is _totally_ called for, _hello_? – red-eyed, sharp-toothed, revenge-seeking, murderous werewolf outside, drooling everywhere!) doesn’t wake Geoff, who apparently sleeps like the fucking dead with a hangover. While Otto has a minor panic attack, Geoff just shifts into what looks like an even more uncomfortable position, head tipped back awkwardly as his snores grow even louder. Following that, the sound of the passenger side window shattering doesn’t wake Geoff, nor do the pained howls of a fully grown werewolf having a Rowan wood drumstick rammed into its eye, Otto yelling unintelligibly as he flails, so immensely glad that he’s been carrying the drumsticks around like his favourite stuffed toy since they left his house.

A solid, slightly wet punch to the chest thirty seconds later does wake Geoff, and he shoots upright with his hands in a defensive position, blue eyes still sleepy. “What the hell was that for?” he asks groggily, relaxing as he scrubs his hands through his hair, which still manages to look absolutely perfect afterwards.

Otto punches him again, but there’s hardly any force behind it this time, his hands are shaking so badly. It probably feels m ore like being smacked in the chest with a bony and rather squarish kitten. “For being next to bloody useless!” Otto’s voice cracks as he says it, eyes so wide he’s afraid they’re going to fall right out of his face.

Geoff has the decency to look ashamed, although Otto supposes that it’s an expression closer to confusion, because Geoff probably has no idea what is actually going on. He peers around Otto’s shoulder, his eyes landing first on the bloody, slightly splintered drumsticks clutched in Otto’s spindly death grip, and then to the hole where his car had had a window the last time Geoff checked it. “What did you do to my car?!” he yelps, clutching at the gearstick for stability.

Muttering darkly under his breath, Otto says, “First rule of horror movies: people who fall asleep in cars while being hunted by vengeful werewolves get eaten!” And he points emphatically out the window to where the werewolf is slumped against the car, bleeding from one of its eye sockets.

Laughing, which comes out as more of a giggle than anything else, Geoff says, “You’re going to fit right in at the Academy!” his voice sleep-thick and warm as he pats Otto on the arm.

Of course, that’s when the werewolf decides to regain consciousness, continuing its one-wolf assault on the car from ground level, never mind that there is now a handy access hole just above its snout. Hey, no one ever claimed that wolfed-out werewolves were smart.

Geoff jams the key into the ignition with a borderline manic look in his eyes, revving the engine twice, and then bunny hopping the car over the werewolf’s front paws. He floors the accelerator, and the car is burning rubber on the highway before the two of them have even put their seatbelts on.

**Interlude: The Bonding Exercise**

One week after the Academy formally partners them together, Awsten and Otto wake up one morning in a forest, surrounded by trees, bird calls, and not much else. There is a note taped to Otto’s forehead, from Geoff, telling them to sort their issues out and start getting along, or they would both end up dead, or, worse, kicked off his team.

After reading that, they both vehemently protest having any issue with the other to no avail – no one is there to hear it. Okay, so _maybe_ they had a screaming match in the middle of breakfast the day before, by that was only because Otto was sick of Awsten treating him like shit! And by ‘treating Otto like shit’, he means Awsten stealing his now-precious drumsticks and trying to throw them out, because the sight of them every time Awsten walked into their shared room annoyed him to hell and back. And _maybe_ they were only in such prominent placement in their room, resting proudly on the mantle of their tiny fireplace, because Otto put them there _just_ to irritate Awsten. Which he _only_ did because the first thing Awsten ever said to him was, “I hope the wolf comes back to bite you in the ass, so you can go back to the dogs where you belong.”

In Awsten’s defence of that comment, he… Oh, who am I kidding? He was being a jealous bitch, and has no brain-to-mouth filter. It’s not Awsten’s fault that Otto got so offended.

They freak out for over an hour before even touching the backpack that Awsten had been using as a pillow when they first woke up, neither of them having noticed it until that point. Hesitant to touch it, because it’s bright pink and possibly belongs to Travis (who is in charge of the armoury and is pretty fucking scary when he’s holding a giant battle axe covered in troll blood) and neither of them want to come under Travis’ wrath for accidentally damaging his stuff. Huffing eventually, his stomach growling and his eyes starting to ache without either his glasses or his contacts, Awsten snatches the bag up and tears the zip open, dumping most of the contents onto his flannel-covered legs.

Four water bottles, two lunch boxes, a machete, a box of matches, a pocket knife, one sleeping bag, some Band-Aids, a pack of playing cards, and a new appreciation for however Travis managed to fit all of that stuff into such a small back pack later, Otto says, “Wait, do we have to share all of this?” and they immediately start warring for possession of the single chocolate bar they unearth in one of the lunch boxes.

Arguments are the feature of the next six or seven minutes, first over who has to carry the back pack (Otto, because he has larger biceps), then over whose fault it is that they’re in this predicament (Awsten, because he sleeps the closest to the door, and also? he started this rivalry in the first place), and then over which way is North. They end up following Otto’s lead, _‘because the sun, Awsten, duh!_ ’ and start trying to find a way out of the forest, neither of them fancying the idea of being forced to work together for longer than they need to.

Munching happily on the punnet of blueberries he found in the bag, Awsten finds, much to his horror, that Otto is actually fairly pleasant company, talking quietly about the different species of trees they’re walking past, because of course Otto knows random information like that. Before Awsten can delve too far into these new, scary emotions, they emerge onto a road. He turns to Otto. “We only walked for ten minutes,” he says flatly, blinking.

The ‘forest’ was a clump of trees, about thirty feet wide, just on the outskirts of a small town.

“Seriously?” Otto asks, eyebrows raised. He shrugs the back pack off and starts inspecting the smaller pockets they hadn’t touched earlier, hoping there’s a phone or a radio or something to make smoke signals out of. Instead, he unearths a rather large wad of cash. “Think this is meant to be in here?” he asks, eyeing the rather frayed rubber band holding the clump together, and how set-in the creases in the bills are.

Awsten nabs it off him, flicking the rubber band away and counting it. “Don’t care,” he grumbles, licking his thumb to aid the process. “They dumped me in the forest, in my pyjamas, with _you_ , all before breakfast. I’d say we’re entitled to this.”

Heading into the town, they book into the quaint little motel, and spend the next four days playing cards and mocking the third-rate cooking show on the one channel tuned into the shitty TV until they no longer hate each other, content to share the double bed and make dumb jokes until the early hours of the morning all wrapped up in the moth-ball scented duvet. Geoff’s car makes an appearance outside on the morning of the fifth day, and he takes them back to the Academy with a smug smile on his face.

The expression is soon wiped off when Awsten smacks him in the back of the head and Otto elbows him in the stomach, the two linking arms and walking back to their room, where there is a shower with hot water, and clean clothes.

“At least the plan worked,” Geoff wheezes, doubled over slightly, as he hands the empty back pack to Travis.

Travis frowns as he peers into the front pocket. “They took my goat fund!” he exclaims, bottom lip pouted out.

“Goat… fund?” Geoff mumbles, edging away slightly.

**Entr’acte: A Meeting of the Minds**

“This is a fucking stupid idea,” Otto says for the fourth time, arms crossed as he watches Awsten ferret around with a carefully neutral expression on his face.

Awsten ignores Otto, a talent he has selective skill in, usually when he is doing something stupid and he knows it, and opens the flour bag with the knife he keeps in his boot. This is a _brilliant_ idea, and Otto can either help Awsten, or fuck off. Awsten tells Otto as such. “Get your cute butt over here an help,” he demands, flashing his winning smile in Otto’s direction.

Apparently, not only had their forced trip to the middle of nowhere ironed all their issues out, it had created this strange little bubble of soft fondness for each other, than generally toes the line between playful banter and downright flirting. Geoff is constantly threatening to write them up for indecent behaviour, but they both know that he’s just jealous and a feeling left out.

“Fine, _fine_!” Otto caves, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I will help you fill this entire warehouse with flour in the hopes of coaxing out a family of brownies-cum-bogarts, _and_ I will help you smoke them out once we find them, _and_ I will help you bring the bodies back to the Academy for examination, even though we’re supposed to be tailing a coven of vampires right now.” Awsten hates vampires, Otto knows that much, which means he also knows that this whole round-about thing with the brownies is Awsten’s version of procrastinating.

Awsten upends the flour all over the floor of the warehouse. “I mean, I only wanted your help with the flour and then I was gonna let you get started on the vampires, but you can totally stay and help with the rest.” He grins again. “Thanks, Otto!”

“Sure, you were,” Otto rumbles affectionately, cuffing Awsten’s shoulder as he walks over to the worryingly large pile of flour bags Awsten produced from the back of the car.

It takes them over four hours to cover the entire floor in a thin layer of flour, and set themselves up to watch for the invisible creatures to leave footprints in the mess as they rush to clean up, but the fucking brownies don’t even make an appearance, and Otto throws his hands in the air. “We’ve wasted an entire night doing this, Awsten!” he groans.

Awsten just shrugs, saying, “Hey, weren’t we supposed to be chasing vampires?” like it’s _Otto’s_ fault that they’ve gone through sixteen bags of flour and back-breaking labour for faeries who couldn’t even be fucked gracing them with their presence for all the work they’ve done.

Otto throws an empty flour bag at Awsten’s face.

**Act Two: The Great Duo**

“What the actual fuck was I thinking when I signed up for this shit?” Otto gripes as he crouches next to Awsten in the dirt, black beanie pulled down low over his eyes. Awsten is nearly invisible next to him, brightly coloured hair swept up into a matching beanie to blend seamlessly into the shadows around them. “Fuck.” It’s cold, it’s dark, there is a _spider_ hanging just above Otto’s head, his crossbow is digging into his back, and he is just… not a happy camper right now.

Awsten rolls his eyes, blue-green pinpricks in the weak light of the moonbeams, and shoots a bolt from his crossbow straight through the spider, giving Otto a jaunty wink. He snaps his binoculars into place so he can keep an eye on the goat they have tethered up in the clearing several feet away. The two of them are crouched inside the giant hollow of a tree trunk, and Otto is on a roll, bordering on full ‘My Mother Told Me’ mode.

“My mother _told_ me not to get into cars with strangers!” he exclaims quietly, hands flapping a little.  

He taps his chin thoughtfully after a second. “Of course, she thought it would end in a police report,” he shakes his head. “But _no_. Only _I_ would end up in a car with the fucking recruitment officer for the group of nutjobs who think that _Chupacabra hunting_ is a fun way to spend Friday night!”

“You are so Texan,” Awsten breathes happily, eyes bright as he watches Otto rant out of the corner of his eye. “And you can’t really blame Geoff, he might be tall and drop dead gorgeous and smell good enough convince you to do whatever he wants, but you did climb into his car willingly.”

“Shut up,” Otto snorts, palming at Awsten’s face. “You’re Texan, too.” His nose wrinkles. “Also? So not the point, Awsten!” That statement isn’t followed up by anything else, so Awsten isn’t too worried about having to shut Otto up manually like he had to do that time in Dublin with the manticore. Travis still has the scars from that incident.

In the end, though, their Friday night is _not_ wasted, despite what Otto’s complaining would have you believe, as the Chupacabra decides to show up right when even Awsten was preparing to throw in the towel. Both of them have crossbow bolts lodged in its throat before it can even think of touching Travis’ brand new goat (it has taken Travis over a year to resave his goat fund after Otto and Awsten spent it, but hey – at least the goat isn’t dead!) and it barely takes them an hour to wrap the carcass and seal it in the carrier shoved into the back seat of the car.

“Okay,” Otto concedes on their way back to the Academy. “That may have been a little bit fun.” He catches Awsten’s smug smile behind the wheel, and he pokes his pointy fingers into Awsten’s ribs in retaliation. “ _May have_.”

Awsten nods, ever so condescending. “You loved it,” he hums, sticking his tongue out.

The night isn’t over yet, apparently. As the sun is rising, and they have barely set foot in the entrance hall, Geoff comes flying at them from one of the many staircases leading down from the upper floors, waving his arms around like a madman. “Get back in the car, get back in the car!” he demands, grabbing one of Otto’s hands and catching Awsten around the waist, dragging them both back out into the early dawn. “Come on!”

Whining, Awsten digs his heels into the gravel, leaving two dark trail marks as Geoff powers on despite the resistance. “I am not going _anywhere_ until I’ve had a shower!” he rages, clawing at Geoff’s shoulder as he gazes longingly back at the Academy. “There’s moss in my hair, and I have Chupacabra blood on my pants! I need! A! Shower! _Geoff!_ ”

Geoff ignores Awsten’s protests and slings him easily into the driver’s seat, Otto climbing into the car in a much calmer fashion, much to Geoff’s delight. “Complain later, Aws, there’s a race stable reporting a jockey on a stray black horse gone missing.”

“Ah, shit,” Otto groans, half leaning over into Awsten’s lap to keep sight of Geoff while they’re talking. “I fucking hate phookas. They always make a big mess, and _I_ always have to clean them up!”

Awsten throws his hands up defensively. “I don’t like horses, sue me.”

“Whatever,” Geoff rolls his eyes at them, overly fond, “I don’t care. It’s _your_ problem.”

Elbow on the windowsill, Awsten narrows his eyes at Geoff suspiciously. “Why can’t you do it?” he asks, tapping the end of Geoff’s nose pointedly. “Or another member of this team that hasn’t just come back from monster hunting duty? There are _twelve_ other people in this team, Geoff.”

Counting off on his fingers, Geoff says, “Patty and Kellin are up North hunting giants, the Tylers and Travis are in the lake district dealing with some pissed off nature spirits in a logging camp, Joel says that he isn’t going anywhere until Benji is out of the body cast, Brendon’s group are all on probation after that colossal cock up with the sqonk infestation, and _I_ have a mountain of paperwork calling my name.” He finishes his little spiel with a slow smile, head tilted up hopefully.

“You do not,” Otto mutters under his breath, a little awed as he always is by Geoff’s puppy dog expression. Geoff never does his own paperwork, if he can help it. He uses his unfairly good looks and alarmingly well-honed powers of persuasion to pass it off onto Travis.

Pretending not to hear Otto, Geoff continues, “That leaves it up to you two wonderful boys to rescue the poor jockey before he loses his grip on that bridle and disappears into the Fey Realm forever.” And then he blows them a kiss and turns on his heel, striding away with a slight bounce in his step.

“I hate him,” Awsten says, aghast, blinking after Geoff in shock. “I genuinely hate his stupid face.”

“You love his stupid face,” Otto snorts, finally sitting properly in his seat as Awsten starts the car. “At least we get to break the flame thrower out, that thing hasn’t seen the light of day since Travis confiscated it off us, what? four months ago?”

“That is true, both of those things,” Awsten admits with a slow nod of his head, reversing out of the garage a little faster than necessary. “Fine, fine. Let’s go. I’ll just have a bath or something when I’ve finished telling this idiotic jockey that you don’t go around riding stray horses that show up in your stable.”

Otto pats Awsten’s knee comfortingly over the gear stick. “Good boy.”

Awsten smirks, grabbing Otto’s hand. “I hate you too.”

**Interval: Unbounded Domesticity**

The last box lands on their brand new bed with a thump and a bounce, tipping onto its side to admit Awsten’s disturbingly large collection of woollen jumpers onto the sheets and all over Geoff, who groans. “Why do you need this much cable-knit?” he asks Awsten, one eye peeking out from under a sleeve as Awsten puts his hands on his hips to survey their efforts for the day.

“ _Yes_ ,” Awsten says definitively, smiling.

“I second that,” Otto says, appearing in the doorway. He has one of said sweaters tugged down over his own jumper, hating the current cold snap the Academy has been plunged into by a vengeful faerie. “Awsten’s sweaters can stay. Your video games? Cannot.”

Geoff laughs. “Just because I always win,” he says, still not moving from under the pile of wool.

“Lies,” is all Otto has to say in reply, traipsing over and sprawling horizontally across the bed, feet dangling over the edge of the mattress as he smushes his face into Geoff’s warm neck. “Warm me!” he demands, gesturing vaguely at Awsten, who shrugs, and flops down on top of them both.

“Fuck,” Geoff wheezes, but he can’t keep the dumb grin off his face.

It’s not unusual for Hunters working closely together in life-or-death situations to end up as more than colleagues. No one at the Academy was quite expecting their top three Hunters to go down the same path, at the same time, but they make it work. Plus, now they get to live in the attic for the larger space, which is fucking awesome in Awsten’s opinion.

Awsten wiggles, causing more groaning from underneath him until Otto shoulders Awsten down beside Geoff and curls up between them, still seeking warmth. Patting Otto’s head sleepily, tired from moving all their stuff up six flights of stairs all day, Awsten casts his eyes over their new room one last time, something on the wall finally catching his eye. “We haven’t even unpacked anything yet, and your bloody drumsticks are already mounted on the wall?” he says incredulously.

“Where they belong,” Otto, and Geoff, say together, their hands emerging from the tangle of limbs and sweaters to hi-five sloppily.

Awsten falls asleep before he can dignify that with a response.

**Act Three: Boy Who Cried Wolf**

All good things must come to an end, however much we try to prevent that happening. Our best efforts in vain, eventually something has to go wrong. It takes six years. Six years of success, good hunting, strong friendships, and loving partners, for Otto’s ‘something wrong’ to catch up to him.

It’s a Monday, when it happens. Bad things always happen on Monday. A cold, grey, not-quite-raining Monday evening, and Otto is on his way back from the corner shop near the apartment complex that he and Awsten are crashing in while they track what they think might be a real, actual dragon. The moon came out early, has been up for almost an hour in the dusky sky, full and bright as it shines down on Otto. He has a bottle of milk in one hand, and his favourite silver dagger in the other, just in case.

Older wolves are capable of transforming before the moon has risen properly on nights like these.

Otto stops for a moment, the dagger clenched between his teeth (and, oh, Geoff would have a conniption if he could see it) as he kneels down to re-tie his shoelace. As he stands, juggling the milk from hand to hand before he can grab the dagger safely, he hears it. The soft click-clack of claws on damp pavement, accompanied by the low rumbly-growl of a large, predatory animal.

The milk bottle smashes between Otto’s feet as he spits the dagger out and catches it out of the air in one fluid motion, turning on his toes to face back they way he’d come. He barely has the dagger pointed up when he spots the dark shape darting towards him from the shadows between two buildings, red mouth stretched open wide and a single yellow eye glowing menacingly from a mangled face.

Going at Otto with everything that it can muster, the werewolf’s attack is unexpected, violent, and bloody, and it takes every ounce of strength and training Otto has to keep his dagger between the jagged teeth and his skin. The wolf bears down on Otto, the torn, empty eye socket on its left side so close to his face that he can see the horrid scars where something long and pointy was stabbed through the wolf’s eye. He knows then that this is more than a wolf attacking a Hunter. This is revenge.

This is the wolf that has hunted Otto from that garage back in Texas.

A well-timed swipe of the werewolf’s huge paw shreds the material of Otto’s jacket, and half the skin of his arm with it, the dagger clattering to the pavement and skittering away when his hand spasms open, Otto gasping raggedly in pain. 

The apartment complex is feet away. “AWSTEN!” he screams, kicking his booted foot into the werewolf’s snout, causing it to howl angrily, jaws snapping. “AWSTEN!” Lunging forward, the wolf clamps its teeth down on Otto’s hip. White hot pain lances through Otto’s entire body as teeth sink into flesh; muscle and bone starting to give way under crushing jaws and vengeful rage.

And then, the wolf is gone, and Otto barely registers the three crossbow bolts sunk hilt-deep into its chest before he completely loses it, screaming like a wild animal as he curls in on himself. He can vaguely feel Awsten collapse beside him, cradling Otto’s head in his lap as Awsten runs his stubby nails through Otto’s matted hair. Something hot splashes onto Otto’s face alongside the rain. Everything else that he feels is pure agony, radiating from the mess that used to be his hip, all the way out to his fingers and toes and the tips of his ears.

Nothing Awsten does gets through to Otto, and he stands, scooping Otto up as best he can and half carrying, half dragging him away from the now-human werewolf body, twisted on the ground and staring up at the moon with its lone dead eye. With shaking, bloody hands, Awsten squints through his tears at his phone, dialling Geoff’s number before his brain has even caught up with the movement of his fingers. “Help,” he wheezes, almost silent in his distress. “Geoff, help me, oh my god.” Clutching at Otto’s limp hand, Awsten whimpers hard as he tries desperately to staunch the bleeding, thick red rivulets staining everything they touch. The phone hits the ground as Awsten has to use both hands. “Geoff, Geoff! _Otto_! Oh my god, I can’t-”

“I’m on my way, Aws,” Geoff’s voice reaches him through the panicked haze, crackling from the speaker with calm radiating out from him. “Just hold on. Just _hold on_.”

The car screeches into view ten minutes later, and Geoff is leaping out of it without even parking it properly, kneeling down beside Awsten, who is quite possibly _actually_ having a heart attack, because Otto isn’t opening his eyes, and he won’t stop _screaming_. He sounds like something is being torn viscerally out of him from the inside out.

Geoff says nothing on the way back to the Academy, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he casts furtive glances to Awsten and Otto in the backseat every five seconds. Awsten has to physically hold Otto still, spasms rocking through Otto’s whole body. When they get to the Academy, Geoff and Awsten carry Otto into the infirmary, wrestling his thrashing body into a bed, and Geoff’s face is a hard mask of thin lips and cold eyes. He knows that it hasn’t occurred to Awsten yet, that the Academy has a protocol for this. A way of dealing with infected Hunters.

Awsten patches Otto up himself; cleans out Otto’s hip and disinfects the wounds on his arm. He doesn’t leave the bedside for the three days it takes for the fever to break, only eating when Geoff practically force-feeds him, not letting anyone but Geoff anywhere near the bed. They have to keep Otto in isolation until the next full moon, and every single day those hateful words Awsten once said to Otto play over and over in his head.

_‘I hope the wolf comes back to bite you in the ass, so you can go back to the dogs where you belong.’_

Never before has he regretted anything he has said more than those awfully prophetic words.

Meanwhile, the Hunters’ Board discusses their options, many calling for leniency on the standard werewolf infection protocol in lieu of Otto’s success and dedication to the Academy. Geoff sits in on every meeting, vehement in his arguments and pleas to spare Otto from the fate of every other Hunter fallen victim to the bite of a werewolf. A decision reached, it is Geoff himself forced to deliver the news to Awsten and Otto, walking into the infirmary with his trembling hands wrapped around the box.

“No,” Awsten says immediately, looking fully prepared to lay down across Otto as he sleeps, to protect him from what Geoff is carrying. “Geoff, no, you _can’t_.”

Geoff shakes his head solemnly, and holds the box out to Awsten. “They want you to do it,” he whispers, and Otto can see Geoff’s beautiful eyes misting over. “The best of the best, Aws. They don’t trust anyone else to do it.”

And so, Awsten takes the silver knife. He takes the wolfsbane. And when Otto wakes up, he takes Otto’s hands, and instead of taking Otto to his death, Awsten takes him to the basement of the Academy. He makes up a room for Otto, with a bed, and a blanket, a pillow, and Otto’s favourite one of Awsten’s sweaters. When the moon rises, big and full, Awsten bolts the door on Otto and his frightened eyes with a kiss goodbye, and wedges an iron bar across it to hold it shut. Pressing his back to the wall, Awsten sinks to the floor and puts his head on his knees.

As the sun rises, the vicious howls from inside the room turn into harsh sobs, and Awsten throws the door open, iron bar hitting the flagstones under his feet with a resounding clang. The room is completely destroyed, except for Awsten’s sweater, balled up in Otto’s twitching hands. Awsten drapes another blankets around Otto’s shoulders and curls up next to him on the cold stones, pulling him against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Otto,” Awsten whispers, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m so sorry.”

Otto snuffles into Awsten’s arms, face pressed into the wool of the sweater. “S’okay,” he croaks, falling silent for a beat. “I won’t be able to touch my drumsticks anymore,” he says sadly, managing a weak grin that Awsten can feel rather than see.

Awsten can’t help it, he laughs, all watery and snotty, holding Otto as tightly as possible.

**Finale: And The Band Played On**

For what he has done, or, rather, _not_ done, Awsten is stripped of his Hunter title and thrown out of the Academy, and he proudly marches through the wide double doors, protectively pushing Otto along in front of him. Geoff wants to go with them, but Otto won’t let him, says that the Academy still needs someone good on staff to continue fighting for them.

Gradually, month after month after hard, _weary_ month, Otto adjusts to werewolf life, fighting it kicking and screaming each step of the way. Painfully, he teaches himself to control the wolf on the full moon, wrists bled raw from the silver handcuffs he uses to keep himself from wandering away. Awsten works as a freelance hunter, taking care of knocker infested basement and swimming pools where trolls have made themselves at home. Liaising secretly with Geoff, they once even shut down a colony of dwarves illegally shipping precious metals in and out of the Fey Realm, using Otto’s heightened sensitivity towards certain elements to track the operation down.

Geoff sends them letters constantly as the two of them move sporadically around the country, using his resources at the Academy to track them down to each and every shitty apartment they come to call home as they bounce from city to city. He tells them about the new up-and-coming Academy stars and favourites. He tells them that the training for hunting werewolves is being revised, that he has been removed as the head of the elite team (and replaced by Patty, who was forced into the role, no one else on the team wanting Geoff gone) for not stopping Awsten, but that he is allowed to stay because he didn’t help Awsten either. He tells them that he misses them.

One day, his letter says that Jawn has regained consciousness. Awsten’s first partner, who heard the scream of a banshee and has been laying in a coma ever since. The Academy has denied Awsten permission to visit him.

Otto shred that part of the letter with a wolfish grin, and Awsten stares morosely into his coffee, pout on his face. “I’ve always wanted to speak to him again, you know?” Awsten mumbles, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt. “To apologise, for not being there when I should have been.”

“ _I_ miss Geoff,” Otto says, tapping his lip thoughtfully. “Why not kill two birds with one stone? I think it’s about time the Academy was put out of their depth – they don’t have any defences against ex-Hunters breaking in.” He reaches out for Awsten’s hand. “You in, Aws?”

Awsten’s eyes light up as he deliberates, a plan already forming. “Fuck yeah, I am!” he exclaims, standing up and taking Otto’s hand. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment, don't forget to leave kudos, and if you want to get in contact to yell at me or whatever you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.prinofpol.tumblr.com).


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